Blood Trade (Jane Yellowrock #6)

Blood Trade (Jane Yellowrock #6) Page 18

I opened my mouth and closed it fast. More hinky. Either the disloyal vamps in Leo’s camp hid the call for help or . . . or Leo refused it.

“De Allyon, hem bring twenty Naturaleza wit him,” Blondie said. “Twenty is like forty of us. Maybe sixty. Dey kill . . . Dey kill seventeen of us dat first day, true-dead.”

“And when Leo not answer, we go into hiding.” Limey spat to the side to show his disgust. It landed on the garage floor with a soft splat of loathing. “Politics is what dat was. Hem put politics before us.”

“How soon after de Allyon got here did you start noticing the difference in vamps?”

Blondie made a little chuffing sound, much like Beast might make, part laughter, part loathing. “Dem Naturaleza is faster, stronger than us. But they start to crawling like bugs, only later, after she join him.”

“She?”

Limey elbowed him. “Enough. I hear when Hieronymus tell her to call Clark. He tell her what she need to know.”

“Mmmm. You ask Clark,” Blondie said to me, “about dese vamps what scuttle like bugs and stink of dead earth.”

I had gotten a lot more from the vamps than I had expected, so I didn’t protest. Bumping the silvered cage with a toe, I said, “Smell or not, I’m hoping he’ll tell me what I need to know.” I frowned grimly and gestured the vamps out of Esmee’s garage. As they drove off, Eli and I headed to the kitchen, following the smell of steak. I wanted to sink my teeth into a thick juicy, bloody, rare one. I spotted Jameson in the back entry and heard him murmur as I passed, “Thank you, Miss Jane, for bringing her back.”

“Welcome, Jammie. Do I smell steak?”

“I have just now removed it from the grill, rare and cold in the center. And I promise not to spoil it with sautéed mushrooms or salad.”

“You’re a good man.”

Jameson held out robes, one to Eli, one to me, thick white, soft ones. “If you’ll give me your bloody leathers, I’ll see to it that they are properly cleaned.”

My brows went up. “Yeah? Cool.” I could get used to this. “No chemicals,” I warned, sliding out of the crusty jacket. “Not even mink oil. Vamps can smell it. I usually just rinse it off and wipe it down. The blood residue confuses future vamps and gives me an edge.” Eli looked at me curiously. “What?” I said.

He shook his head, dropped his jacket, and pulled down his pants zipper. I quickly faced away and pulled the robe over my shoulders before dropping my own leather pants. “The things you say,” Eli said, “and the things you think about. That’s all.”

I had no idea what he was talking about, but I didn’t really care either. I smelled steak and my stomach rumbled. Beast purred. Food.

After I finished a hunk of beef worthy of a king, I showered off, pulled on warm clothes, and dialed Clark. He answered with a “Miss Yellowrock?”

“Got it in one. Is it true that you called Leo when de Allyon got here and he didn’t come?” The silence was long and chilled, and I realized it must have sounded like a verbal ambush with a damned-if-you-do and damned-if-you-don’t reply option, so I added, “Because if you called Leo, I’ll be looking into that for you.”

Clark expelled a breath. “Thank you. It would be—” He stopped and rephrased. “I would be happier if I knew that my master was safe and not still in great danger from politics.” He said the last word as if it was something vile, and it wasn’t like I could argue.

And then it hit me. “You’re wondering if I’m here to help or to harm Big H. Aren’t you?” His silence was my answer and was almost enough to make me cuss. I echoed his tone and said, “I hate politics. You understand, Clark? I’m here to fulfill my contract with your master. And keep him alive. And restore peace to this territory. That is all. On my honor.”

He breathed out again and said, softly, “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” We said polite good-byes and hung up, which left me staring at the walls. What the heck had I gotten myself into? And how long before the local cops paid me a nasty visit and threatened to lock me up? Knowing I needed to get a handle on this investigation, I took Big H’s kill list to bed with me.

A little after two a.m. the doorbell rang and I jerked up in bed, shoved the paperwork I’d fallen asleep reading to the floor, and yanked on clothes, seeing flashing lights in the front yard. At least three official cars and no one trying to hide who they were, which could mean a lot of things, none of them good. So much for my question about when I’d receive a visit from the local law. Downstairs, I threw my hair over my shoulder, deactivated the security system, and opened the front door to see a very unhappy member of county law enforcement. “Sheriff Turpin,” I said, stopping myself from saying more when she glared at me from my bare feet to the top of my head.

Sylvia Turpin, whose family had a generations-long tradition of law enforcement in Adams County, took her job very seriously, and despite the fact that Leo had contributed a hefty sum to her election campaign, she didn’t like me. I sorta understood her feelings, because the last time I was in her town, I kept her people and the city cops awfully busy at various crime scenes. “Yellowrock. I should have known.” She didn’t ask to come inside, but pushed past me, which I thought was against the law unless she had a warrant or probable cause. But, then, in her mind, I was likely probable cause. “Where’s Gordon?”

“I’m here, Sylvia.”

I looked down the hallway and saw Esmee’s son, his robe floating behind him, his slippers making small shussing sounds on the wood and carpets. His hair was mussed and he had sheet creases on his left cheek. The one on his face. He was wearing jammies, so I didn’t know about sheet creases on any other cheeks.

“I thought I’d be notified if she came back to town.”

“I wasn’t notified myself until this evening.” He paused and blinked, as if still waking up. “This past evening, now. She didn’t go through the agency. She called Mother directly.” He slanted his eyes at me. Like he was blaming me.

“Don’t look at me. I didn’t call anyone. I have”—I chuffed at what I was about to say—“people for that.”

Eli stepped in through the front door. He wasn’t carrying his toys, but he’d been on watch. I needed to get him some backup or he’d never sleep. “Everything okay here, Miz Yellowrock?”

“Eli, meet the sheriff. Not sure you had the chance last time we were in town.”

He glanced down at the petite, pretty, redheaded woman, and his eyes widened slightly. A more-than-half smile drew his lips up on both sides and exposed his teeth, an expression I was sure I’d never seen. It transformed his face. “Ma’am.”

Honest to god, the lady sheriff blushed. She squared her shoulders as if she could feel the heat on her face. “I remember you. You work for Yellowrock.”

“With,” I said. “My company has expanded, Sheriff Turpin. He works with me.”

“Partners of a sort,” Eli clarified, his eyes holding to the sheriff’s with near-predatory intensity. “Though we’re still working out the kinks. And I only saw you from a distance when we were here before, ma’am.” He stepped closer, his black camo muted in the dull light. “At the time I wasn’t worthy of being introduced, being the hired help.” He smiled down at her, his face developing a look I could only call weird. Or stupid. Or maybe insipid. Yeah. That was a good word for it.

Turpin’s breath caught and heart faltered before catching a harder, faster rhythm, the kind of thing I can hear when Beast is paying close attention. She raised a hand and pushed her hair back behind an ear, the gesture out of place and puzzling. “I see. I hope you manage to keep her from causing too much trouble in my county this time.”

“It’s a hard job, ma’am, but someone has to do it. You have any suggestions on how I can . . . do it better?”

And then the pheromones hit it. Mating pheromones. They liked each other. A lot. That hair thing had been all girly and coy. And Eli was making goo-goo eyes back at her. Beast panted with amusement in the back of my mind, and I rolled my eyes. “Good grief,” I muttered. Louder, I said, “Leo Pellissier sanctioned my presence in the county, ma’am. I should have had his primo or the Natchez MOC’s primo, Clark, send a notice of my arrival. I apologize for any inconvenience I’ve caused.”

She glanced at me, and I noted her eyes were an amazing shade of blue, brilliant against her fair skin and dark red hair, and her pupils were dilated with desire as much as with the dim light. “Have him send me notification. I understand there were some problems tonight Under the Hill. I guess you didn’t think to inform local law enforcement,” the sheriff said, more a statement of irritation than a question.

“Oops,” I said. “Um. My bad. Sorry.”

“I also got a call from Homeland Security about problems across the state line, and word that an agent is on the way. I am not happy, folks.”

My heart did a fast three-beat trip before it fell. Homeland Security meant PsyLED. Which could mean Rick. Or not.

“I’ll need to start the necessary paperwork for PsyLED, so who wants to give me a report about the DBs in my county?”

As part of the new ruling affecting vamp hunters—unless the courts tossed it out on appeal—paperwork was required wherever there was a hunt for rogues or Naturaleza. Because it was an expense most money-strapped states could ill afford, few places had instituted it yet, but it seemed that Mississippi and Turpin had. It made my job harder, but, then, government always made things harder.

“I’ll drive into town and give a report later on today, ma’am,” Eli said.

“And I’ll inform the PsyLED agent we’ve checked in, belatedly,” I said, “and get the local MOC to send you notification. Thank you, ma’am.”